


I Wish It Had Been the Flu

by CaryceJade



Series: Past, Present, and Future [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6689320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaryceJade/pseuds/CaryceJade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is part of the Past, Present, and Future AU. </p><p>Alastair returns from a mission to find out that James has called in sick. Initially, while worrying, it doesn't seem to be anything other than the virus that has made its way through London over the past few weeks. That quickly changes, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wish It Had Been the Flu

**Author's Note:**

> Carl Latham is an OC from my Reassembly AU over of fanfiction.net who is a physician and general surgeon who teaches first, second, and third year potions after the war. He, in this AU, is also Carrie's cousin and Merlin's stepfather. This takes place a few weeks after the "Gastroenteritis" vignette.
> 
> "It had to be done, so I might as well be the one to do it," or the appendicitis fanfic no one asked for.

Alastair handed in his report to Merlin, then asked, “Is Lancelot in his office?”

Merlin shook his head. “You might want to head home if you have nothing left to do here. James called in sick today. Morgana said he sounded awful. Knowing her tendency to understate…” He gave a half-shrug.

“Right.” Concern was creeping into Alastair like a cold hand. James had sounded fine, if a little tired, when they had talked last night, and had seemed happy when he had told him that he would be coming home today, probably by midmorning. “Is Morgana around, so that I can ask what I'm walking into?” Carrie had known James since he was about six, and was more like a second mother/weird aunt than a coworker. Alastair hadn't really known her very well before he and James had gotten together, other than a few conversations, some sparring, and crying on her once after one really rough mission, but he had grown to consider her an actual friend over the past couple of years, which had led to closer associations with Merlin and Galahad as well.

“You mean to say that he’s never actually fallen ill in the almost year-and-a-half the two of you have been living together, or the almost two years you've known each other?” Merlin raised an eyebrow in astonishment.

“No.” He shook his head. “I’ve had a couple of colds and a bad stomach virus, but he's only had a sniffle that lasted maybe a couple of hours and a few really bad headaches before you found a way to get rid of the glasses for good. The only time I've seen him actually get sick was when he had his arm broken by a crowbar on our second mission together.” That made Merlin wince in sympathy. It had been a bad enough break that it had made him, watching through Alastair’s glasses, a little queasy. Now Alastair really was getting a little worried.

Merlin had already called Morgana, who had him come down to her lab, since she had a potion that she had begun the day before that she couldn't leave unattended. Alastair had been concerned that she was burying herself in her work after her husband, then her best friend, then her second-born son had died, all three within a year, but she had recently entered a relationship with an old friend of her and her late husband that had lost his wife at about the same time, and seemed happy, though she again had been forced to realize and make peace with the fact that she would probably outlive him by at least three centuries, not only because she was a witch,which extended her lifespan by more than double anyway, but because of a dominant genetic fluke that ran in her family that caused her to age at an even slower rate than was typical for a witch or wizard. She only appeared to be in her mid-twenties, though Alastair knew her to be in her early sixties.

 

“James hardly ever gets sick,” she said, giving Alastair a wry look while chopping some obscure pungent-smelling root into slivers. “When he gets sick, though, he usually gets very sick before it's over with. For him to even admit that he's sick, he has to be feeling pretty rough. He also gets clingy, so he won't want you out of his sight. Just keep him comfortable, don't leave him by himself, and you'll be fine. At least he has the sense enough to rest if he's actually sick, instead of trying to work and making himself worse, unlike some people you and I both know. Oh, and grape ice lollies never go amiss.”

It was on autopilot that Alastair made his way to the store, and then to the flat that he shared with James. He opened the door, then put his stuff away. “James?” he called. “Where are you?” He didn't get a response, but if James was asleep, he didn't really expect one. If he was tired enough, injured enough, or drugged enough, James could sleep through a minor explosion.

Alastair walked into the bedroom and over to the bed, pulling off his shoes and jacket as he went. As he walked over, he took in that the curtains were drawn, the bathroom door was open, and instead of his usual sprawl, James seemed to be curled up in a ball, something Alastair knew he only did if he were in pain, whether it be from job-related stresses or injuries, this illness, or emotional in origin. The first time James had broken down after a bad mission, he had curled up in a ball in Alastair’s arms and had just sobbed for what felt like hours while Alastair stroked his hair and rubbed his back until he fell asleep. “Hey,” Alastair said quietly, laying a hand on his boyfriend’s forehead. He almost jerked it back in alarm at the heat he felt, but James was already leaning into it.

“Feels nice. Stay,” James mumbled, cracking open bleary green eyes to stare up at Alastair as though he couldn't quite work out how he’d gotten there. To Alastair, it was extremely obvious that he had a fever.

“Just let me get changed, and I'll lie down with you for a while. Do you need anything while I'm up?”

“Maybe some water and paracetamol. Head’s killing me.” 

“Right. Anything else bothering you?” Alastair asked as he changed into a pair of track pants and a t-shirt.

“Ache all over, and I feel a little queasy. Not enough to be sick again, but enough to be miserable.” He slowly sat up and rested his head on his bent knees. “Just felt tired last night. Woke up a little before five feeling like shit. Called Carrie after I spent an hour in the bathroom.” 

Alastair nodded as he got a cup of water and the paracetamol. “Hopefully this will help.” 

James nodded and took the pills. “Haven't felt like this since Paul and Zelda convinced me to drink firewhiskey they had slipped out of Carrie’s office.” 

Alastair raised his eyebrows. “You rarely drink more than one or two drinks.” He climbed into bed beside James.

James smiled slightly. “That's why. Carrie was not happy with any of us. Not because we drank it, but because we got plastered on it. You know, we never did find Paul's shoes.” He scooted over and laid back down, his head on Alastair’s shoulder.

“I could see that, yes.” He knew that one thing Morgana could not stand was stupidity. Recklessness, she could understand, and even conceded was sometimes necessary, and she herself could be merrily reckless on occasion, but to her, there was no need for stupidity. Also, Paul never could find his shoes when he wanted them on a normal day, much less inebriated.

He felt James drop off to sleep a few minutes later, and hoped the medicine had started working on his headache and fever. He was feeling the same level of helplessness that he felt whenever Roxy or Robbie were sick; that somebody he loved was hurting, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Alastair was almost asleep himself when he felt James jump up and run to the bathroom. He winced as he heard him making those little hiccupy noises and groans that meant throwing up was inevitable for him.

Alastair was only torn by a brief moment of indecision and awkwardness before he followed James into the bathroom and knelt down beside him, letting him lean on him. He had only really ever dealt with Roxy and Robbie when they were this sick, and even then, not very often, but he figured that most sick people don't want to be left alone. He knew he certainly hated to be alone when he was sick. He also knew that James hated throwing up, and tried to avoid doing it as much as he could, to the point that the only time Alastair had known him to was when he had his arm broken by a crowbar on their second mission together. James could handle other people being sick just fine, but had trouble with being sick himself.

It felt like hours of James alternately gagging, making small retching noises, and shivering in Alastair’s arms before he suddenly heaved with an unexpected violence. Nothing came up, but Alastair still helped him get his head over the toilet basin. 

It took several more violent heaves before anything came up, but once it started, it did not stop. Alastair was with him the whole time, supporting him with calming words and rubbing his back.

When James finally stopped, Alastair reached over and flushed the toilet, got up and dampened a flannel in cool water, then filled a cup with water. He knelt back down beside his boyfriend and helped him take a few cautious sips of the water, then ran the cool cloth over his face and the back of his neck. “Do you want to go back to bed or stay here a little longer?” Alastair asked.

James leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. “Stay here. Still feel really sick.”

Alastair sat down beside him and guided him down until his head was in his lap. He began running his fingers through James’ hair. It would be James’ shitty luck to catch the stomach flu weeks after it had swept through Alastair, both his siblings, area schools, the tailor shop, and the wizarding hospital that James’ sister, Fay, worked at. Carrie and Fay had both even warned him a few weeks ago that James was often the last to catch any bug going around, but paid for it by getting sicker than those around him. 

Within a few hours, though, Alastair was starting to think that James was sicker than just a stomach virus. He had trouble even keeping water down, and Alastair had grabbed a bowl out from under the sink for him to be sick in after he had almost passed out in pain trying to get over to the toilet. He also seemed to be in a lot of pain, more pain than would be normal for a stomach virus, and it seemed to be worst on his lower right side. He was seriously considering calling Carrie or trying to get James to a hospital himself.

He jumped as he heard a loud crack in the living room, then relaxed as he heard Carrie call out his name.

“We’re in the bathroom,” Alastair called back. 

Carrie poked her head in, then stepped in. “I’m calling a doctor,” she said, after casting a spell to check James’ temperature, then a basic diagnostic spell. “In fact, I’m calling Merlin's stepfather, Carl. He’s a wizard as well, and knows about Kingsman. You might remember him from when James broke his arm that time.” 

Alastair nodded, his eyes meeting Carrie’s and revealing how worried he really was. “How did you know to come? I was just thinking about calling you or trying to get him to a hospital.”

“If you think about calling me in more than a passing sense, I can sense it and pinpoint your general location,” she said, pulling out her mobile. “Plus, I have charms on all that were my candidates. I know if they become seriously ill, injured, et cetera.” She dialed a number. “Carl,” she said. “It's Carrie. No, Archie is all right. I need you to apparate to my location ASAP. I suspect appendicitis, going by my own diagnostic spells, but would like your confirmation. If it is, I want you to do the surgery. Yes, I’ll let him know.” She hung up. “He’ll be here in about five minutes, after he dismisses his class and tells his headmaster where he’s going and to cancel the rest of his classes for the next couple of days for him.”

Alastair nodded, wincing inwardly in sympathy as James gagged over the bowl again. He sincerely hoped that this would be over soon. He didn't know how much more James could take, and seeing him in this much pain was breaking his heart.

The second crack in the living room did not startle Alastair, perhaps because he was expecting it, and he looked up as Carl entered the room. He was a tall, lean man with the same dark brown hair and blue eyes that Carrie had, and, though he was not biologically related to Merlin, it was easy to see where Merlin had picked up certain movements and behaviors, in spite of the faint American Southern accent Alastair recalled him having. He gave Carrie a nod, and Alastair and James a sympathetic look before kneeling down and casting several more complex diagnostic spells than what Carrie had cast earlier.

Once he was done, he met Alastair’s eyes. “Definitely appendicitis. I’ll want to do surgery immediately. I'm going to apparate him to your medical department and get set up. Carrie’ll apparate you there, ‘cause I sure as hell ain't going to let you drive or make you take a bus. She’d kick my arse, and my son’d kick what was left.”

Alastair waited until they had left before dropping his head into his hands. He looked up when he felt Carrie’s hand on his shoulder. She gave him a look of understanding. “Do you need to call anyone before we leave?” she asked softly.

Alastair nodded. “James’ mother and my parents.” His voice was shaking.

Carrie nodded. “While you do that, I’ll clean up in here, then we'll go.” She started to squeeze his shoulder, then hugged him instead. “I trust Carl more than I do any other general surgeon, save perhaps his half-brother Jim.” She handed Alastair her mobile, then cast several cleaning charms while Alastair made his phone calls.

“Now,” she said after he handed her back her mobile, “I need you to hold onto my arm and not let go, no matter what.” After he had a sure grip on her arm, she apparated them to the medical department, and, upon looking at Alastair, made him sit in the nearest chair, since he looked somewhere between crying and passing out.

They sat in a companionable silence until Carrie’s mobile rang, startling them both.

“Hello, Carrie Jakes speaking. Oh, hello, Lavender. No, you wouldn't be able to get hold of Carl. He’s performing an appendectomy on Fay’s brother. Yeah, he’s here beside me. As good as can be expected, I’d say, considering he just got the shit scared out of him. Yes, send him some. Yes, I’ll ask Archie if he can come over for dinner Sunday. I’ll tell him Juniper keeps asking for him. Chelsea and Rab already said they would? Good. Well, I’ll tell Carl to call you before he heads home, okay? You too. Bye, Lavender.”

She then turned to Alastair. “Lavender is Carl’s wife. Carl may not be Merlin's biological father, but he’s the only father he’s known, and he was a widower for about fifteen years before he married Lavender two years ago. She graduated with Fay. Juniper is their daughter, and Chelsea and Rab are Merlin's half-sister and brother-in-law. She asked if you were okay, since she’s friends with Fay and my daughter, Corrine, and knows James in passing. She’s going to send some food so you don’t have to worry about cooking for a few days.”

Alastair nodded, sensing that Carrie was only elaborating on the conversation to try to distract him a little.

It wasn't terribly long after that when Carl came out. He met Alastair’s eyes. “Everything went fine,” he said. “Fortunately, the appendix hadn’t burst, so things didn't take too long. If things continue to go well, I’ll let him go home tomorrow evening, but I don't want him to even think about being on any sort of active status for about four to six weeks.” 

Alastair let out a hard sigh of relief. “When can I see him?”

Carl smiled. “Come with me. He should start waking up in a little bit.”

Alastair followed Carl down the hallway to one of the rooms in the infirmary. As soon as he entered the room, he sat down in the chair beside the bed and took James’ hand in his. “You don't get to scare me like that,” he said quietly. “I couldn't take it if something were to happen to you.” He then leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.


End file.
